


The Party Don't Start Till I Walk In

by AuditoryCheesecake, uniqueinalltheworld



Series: Sweaters and Satinalia [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: A has a problem and that problem is The Shirt, Adoribull - Freeform, Can you believe we thought this was gonna be a drabble, College AU, Dirty Talk, Fluff and Smut, Kink Negotiation, Legally Blonde References, Light Bondage, M/M, One Shot, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Resolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-05-03 03:04:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5274098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuditoryCheesecake/pseuds/AuditoryCheesecake, https://archiveofourown.org/users/uniqueinalltheworld/pseuds/uniqueinalltheworld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian is completely under-dressed and this is very terrible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Party Don't Start Till I Walk In

It’s almost eleven on a Saturday and the Chargers’ house is packed. Saturnalia is around the corner, the freshmen are getting the hang of college life, midterms are just beginning to loom on the horizon, and it’s fucking freezing outside. 

The Bull throws the best parties at Inquisition University. It’s a scientific fact proven by many carefully-planned experiments, and if they’re not exactly _repeatable_ studies, at least they always support the same hypothesis. Also, he did a survey once as part of a stats class. Professor Montilyet said his sample set may have been biased, but he got a B, so it can’t have been too bad.

Not that he does it on his own, of course. He’s just the president of the co-op. He literally couldn’t throw a party without unanimous consent, so it’s good that the rest of the Chargers think his parties are as awesome as everyone else does. 

Krem is holding court in the kitchen, Bull thinks. He’s a bit of a campus celebrity now. Taking the soccer team from division joke to the national championships does a lot for your reputation, even if you’re a Vint, and so does having a group of friends ready and willing to punch faces for you. The Chargers have a list of people not allowed into co-op parties; Bull cares more about keeping his friends safe than whether or not the douchebags from Delta Psi hate him.

And besides, he throws the best parties on campus. Maybe they could come if they stopped being nationalistic shitstains.

The drinks are flowing and the bass is pumping, and the Bull pleased with himself. His senior year is shaping up well, if this party is any indication. Except for his dry spell, of course. He’s been so busy with classes and work he hasn’t gotten laid in weeks. But the party is going well.

He checks in on Rocky and his beer pong tournament, then finds Dalish in the living room, grinning like a demon, leaning over her laptop to listen to Skinner shouting something through the music.

Sera is on the back porch with a cigarette and a cute dwarf Bull recognizes from the science building. Stitches is there too, lecturing them on...something. Neither seem to be paying any attention to him.

The Bull meanders toward the front of the house, clapping friends on shoulders, ducking into selfies at the last minute, having a wonderful time, but also keeping an eye on everyone in the house. Krem calls him a mother hen, but he prefers the term “responsible.”

He’d had one TV broken during a party his freshman year, and wasn’t about to let that happen again. He also wasn’t about to let _people_ get broken on his watch. He grabs a drunk couple before they head up the stairs-- the bedrooms are strictly off-limits to anyone who doesn’t live in the house-- and he makes rounds of all the out of the way corners and bathrooms. The den, a converted bedroom on the first floor, is always quiet, and the Bull likes it that way, an out of the way spot for anyone too drunk or overwhelmed. Of course, when you have a dark, quiet room, you have to check that people aren’t using it for nefarious purposes. The Chargers like to keep their common areas sanitary.

The den is dark and the Bull almost thinks it’s empty, but he catches a flicker of movement reflected on the TV screen. Someone’s sitting on the couch, slumped low so that they can’t be seen from the door. 

“You okay in there?” He asks. He’s met some of his best friends by being nosy.

“Fuck off.” The person huddled on his couch has a very nice voice. A Vintish accent, Bull thinks, but different than Krem’s. More...fancy? The guy’s reflection shifts and… sparkles. Intrigued, Bull steps fully into the room and closes the door behind him. An angry face pops up over the back of the couch. “What part of ‘fuck off’ do you not understand?” He growls. 

Bull knows that moustache. He’s had specific and filthy dreams about that moustache. 

The Bull moves around the couch and looks down at Dorian Pavus, because it can’t be anyone else, with a raised eyebrow. “I understand both those words fine, but you’re in my house.” Haughty, untouchable Dorian Pavus was slumped on his couch, looking pretty fucking miserable. How did he get here? Since when did he know that the Chargers existed? That _Bull_ existed?

“You may have noticed that I want to be left alone.” Even slouching, he looks good (Bull has noticed this many times across the dining hall and in the library) but he also looks pretty pissed. He glares at Bull. “So _please_ , fuck off.”

There’s something weird going on with his pants. It takes a minute, but Bull realizes there’s a fake snake attached to the front. “Nope.” Bull gestures to the snake… thing. “What’s this?”

Dorian sighs and rubs at his temples. “Obviously, I’m reenacting Reese Witherspoon’s magnum opus, _Legally Blonde_ , but with far less drama and satisfaction. And dressed as a _snake charmer_.” His voice is dry and carries a note of self-recrimination that Bull doesn’t like.

Bull is a sucker for sad, beautiful people, so he sits down next to Dorian. “Who plays the chick who told Elle Woods that it was a costume party when it wasn’t?”

“A charming simpleton from my calculus class. I suppose he thought it was a clever joke.” Dorian fiddles with the snake and shrugs, like he doesn’t really care. The Bull doesn’t buy that for a second.

“That’s pretty shitty.” Dorian nods and stares at his hands. What is it about calculus that makes people raging dickweeds?

“Does that make me the douchey ex? _You_ got into Inquisition?” He uses the fake Tevinter accent that Krem hates, “And now you're supposed to say: What, like it’s hard?”

Dorian snorts inelegantly, and covers his mouth like he hopes the Bull won’t notice. He does.

“Y’know,” the Bull says, “Most people go to parties to hang out with other people, or at least drink.” 

“I’m not most people.” Dorian looks up at him through his eyelashes. They’re _very_ nice eyelashes. “I prefer to spend my time isolated in the dark, wishing I was somewhere else.” 

“That’s too bad, I have it on pretty good authority that my parties are a lot of fun.”

“Maybe if you’re drunk,” Dorian says, “or at least not wearing a stupid costume.”

The Bull gives him a once over, taking in his boots, dark leggings, shiny vest… yeah, he can’t really change the outfit much. Never mind the fake snake, the gold sequins on the vest are eye-catching on their own, and he is apparently not wearing a shirt. A full sleeve tattoo of a snake twists up his left arm and onto his chest, baring its fangs directly over his heart. 

Bull thinks it might look ridiculous on anyone else. Dorian makes it work though. Really, _really_ well.

Then he grabs the Bull’s beer.

“Hey! I was drinking that!”

“I need a drink more than you do.” Dorian tells him. “And I’m not about to go out _there_ to get one.” He wraps his lips around the rim and Bull knows he’s staring but… he’s been lusting after Dorian from afar since the guy first arrived on campus. Prickly, hot, and a rising star in the chemistry department, Dorian moves in different circles than the Bull, but their school’s not that big. He’s seen Dorian around, with his fancy clothes and fancy moustache and his wicked smirk. He’s just never been this close to him.

“I could give you a change of clothes if you want.” He blurts out.

“I don’t think we have the same style.” Is Dorian’s slightly incredulous response. And he’s right. Bull is wearing a pink tank top with a screen printed cat in sunglasses (his favorite party shirt), camo shorts and combat boots. Nothing like what Dorian wears. Is wearing. Would want to wear. The Bull imagines Dorian wearing the cat shirt. Just the cat shirt.

“I have boring clothes too.” He says. “I even have dress shirts.”

Dorian snorts at him again. “I don’t believe you. I have seen you at formal school functions and you have _never_ worn a dress shirt.”

“Spend a lot of time watching me, do you?” Did he? Bull watches _him_ quite a bit.

A sly smirk curving around the bottle, Dorian takes his time answering. “And if I do?”

“Then you’d know that I have _excellent_ taste in clothes.”

The bottle clinks as Dorian puts it on the table. He stands and stretches, the vest riding up and exposing more of his dark, gorgeous skin. Another tattoo, a few words of text, follow the line of a rib. The Bull takes it all in, sitting still. If he moves he’ll probably do something stupid. It’s all those damn sequins.

“You really don’t, Bull.” Dorian knows his name, apparently. Bull’s pretty sure they’ve never actually talked, though. He walks around the couch and the Bull has to get up to keep him in sight. “But, short of attending in costume, I can make anything work.” He reaches the door and turns around. Bull hasn’t moved a step.

“Your snake is _very_ charming.” Is all the Bull can say. His voice comes out a bit squeaky. The fabric snake sticks up from Dorian’s crotch and bounces with every step. It’s a little bit hilarious.

“Don’t you dare laugh.” Dorian’s eyes narrow dangerously and he crosses his arms. “I thought it was a costume party!”

He laughs, and Dorian glares the whole time.

“I have hoodies and stuff upstairs,” he offers, and Dorian nods, cheeks flushed. He grabs a blanket from the couch and Dorian wraps it around his shoulders like a poncho. It looks almost like real clothing.

“Lead the way, I suppose.”

The Bull ushers him out into the party, one hand on the small of his back, because really, why not. The house is full of people, and Dorian is pressed close to him as they head down the hall and through the kitchen. Bull grabs two beers out of the fridge when they pass it, waving at Sera. She points at Dorian with a skeptical look. She knows about Dorian and how Bull feels about his moustache. He winks.

Bull follows Dorian up the stairs and steers him into his bedroom. Dorian stands awkwardly by the desk while he roots through his drawers. Bull can hear him poking around, turning on the desk lamp, shuffling his notebooks, looking at the plant in its hanging basket.

“This isn’t how I imagined your room at all.” Dorian tells him. “It’s all very precise.” It is. Bull grew up knowing everything had a place and an order. It was an easy system to stick to.

“You think about my room often?” he asks with a smirk, handing Dorian a grey t-shirt. He’s had it for a while and it’s soft and stretched in places. It doesn’t have any words or designs, so he figures Dorian won’t be too offended by it. He has a pair of sweatpants, too, but he’s not sure they’ll fit at all. Maybe Krem has something he could borrow. It’d be for a good cause. “I’m learning so much about you tonight.”

He can see better now than he could in the den, and he appreciates the way Dorian’s cheeks darken as he ducks his head. The room isn’t very big, there isn’t much space between them. Dorian unfastens his vest and pulls the shirt on over his head in a few hasty movements, his hands brushing just barely against Bull’s chest. Bull gets another glimpse of his tattoos and a glint of gold-- shit, that’s definitely a nipple ring. He wonders if he might be able to get that shirt back _off_ of Dorian tonight.

The shirt is tight on Bull, and he wears it when he wants to show off his muscles while still technically “wearing clothes,” and he had known that Dorian would be swimming in it, but--

It reaches to mid thigh-on Dorian, and the sleeves hang close to his elbows. The neck is wide enough that it dips down below his collarbones and he tugs at it with a disgruntled expression. It’s pretty hot, Bull thinks. But it’s also kind of adorable. He wonders what would happen if he said that out loud. It might be worth a shot.

“Thanks for the shirt.” Dorian says shortly. 

Bull nods. He considers telling Dorian to keep it. Something about seeing his clothes on Dorian is pushing all kinds of buttons. He considers saying that, too. “It’s not Ralph Lauren, but it looks good on you.” is what he says instead.

“Most things look good on me. When I dress for the right occasion, that is.” Dorian shrugs. “I suppose the night can still be salvaged.”

He offers Dorian the sweatpants. “Do you want these too?”

Dorian stares at them. “Absolutely not. I want a drink.”

Bull congratulates himself on thinking ahead, and pops the cap off one of the beers he brought up with him. He hands it to Dorian and sits down on his bed with a sigh.

Dorian stays standing, but he doesn’t leave. He sips his beer and watches the Bull. Bull watches the way his throat works when he swallows and the wetness the bottle leaves on his lips. “You’re not going back downstairs?”

“Nah, not yet.” Bull presses the cold beer bottle to his knee. It’s been a bit achy all day. “It’s a party. It can handle itself.”

Dorian takes a step towards him, crossing most of the empty space in Bull’s small room. He puts his beer down on the dresser. “And you think I can’t?”

Bull gives him a slow grin. “I think I’m a lot more interested in watching you handle yourself than I am in going back downstairs.” 

“Is that so?” Dorian puts himself fully into Bull’s space. He’s not so small as he seemed when he first put on the shirt. He looks...warm. Solid. Like despite any unfortunate calculus pranks, nothing Bull has in mind could ever break him. 

Bull looks up at him, admiring his face and the nervous half-smile sliding over it. Dorian leans forwards, putting his hands onto Bull’s shoulders. Bull takes a chance and wraps his own hands around Dorian’s hips, fingers splayed across the firm muscles at the small of his back. “If you want me to watch you handle it.”

“I’d prefer you do a bit more than watch,” Dorian says, and kisses him. He tastes like beer, and Bull really wants to keep kissing him until that flavor is long gone. Dorian’s not interested in taking things quite that slow, apparently, and straddles him, one hand at the back of Bull’s head. Bull leans into it, and gives as good as he gets.

Bull get his hands under Dorian’s shirt--and isn’t that interesting how the damn thing already belongs to him when he hasn’t had it more than five minutes? He wraps one arm around Dorian’s waist and holds him close, exploring the smooth plane of his back and the curve of his chest. He leans down to kiss those collarbones poking out of the shirt and Dorian throws his head back with a gasp. Bull focuses on the hollow of his neck and the way that Dorian grabs at his shoulders when he scrapes his teeth lightly over his skin.

“Get this hideous shirt _off_ of you.” Dorian commands, and pushes Bull back onto the bed to accomplish his goal. His hands roam over Bull’s chest and he leans down to kiss him sweetly. Dorian feels Bull up _very_ thoroughly, teasing fingers skimming at the waistband of Bull’s shorts and down lower, palming him through the fabric, making him grunt and shift under the pressure. Dorian’s cell phone rings, startling them both, and he silences it without glancing at the screen. Bull has his hands on Dorian’s hips, Dorian leaning over him and filling in world with bright gray eyes and a smile that’s much softer than his usual smirk.

“You’re not gonna get that?” He asks. Dorian’s hair curls forward from his undercut, and Bull reaches up to stroke it. There’s product in it, and Bull rolls a curl between his fingers. The shorter hairs on the sides and back of Dorian’s head are silky smooth and Bull keeps his hand there, and pulls gently until Dorian kisses him again. “Could be important.” He mumbles against Dorian’s lips.

“Right now, I could not care less.” Dorian mouths his way down Bull’s chest, nipping and biting. He slides backwards off Bull’s thighs, and kneels between his legs. Bull tries to lean forwards, following Dorian’s descent, but a firm hand on his chest pushes him back flat on the bed. “Stay still.”

Bull obeys. He stares at the ceiling and listens to the sound of Dorian breathing, settling; he feels Dorian tug his shorts down and off, and shivers when Dorian’s breath hits the inside of his thigh. Dorian’s a bit of tease; he presses his lips to Bull’s hips and slides his hands over his legs.

He doesn’t touch Bull’s dick until Bull is breathing hard through his nose, clutching the sheets in his hands, and the feather-light touch that comes when Bull is least is expecting it makes him gasp and jerk his hips off the bed. Dorian chuckles and licks a firmer stripe from the base to the tip of Bull’s cock before engulfing him.

Bull levers himself up onto his his elbows, and watches Dorian’s face. His eyes are closed, his brow a little furrowed like he’s focusing hard. He looks like he’s having the time of his life, and that alone is as hot as the thing he’s doing with his tongue.

Dorian opens his eyes and meets Bull’s gaze with a little smirk, running a hand along the crease of Bull’s thigh to cup his balls firmly. His mouth feels like heaven and Bull groans before falling back onto the bed, an arm over his eyes. Dorian’s _good_ at this. He’s taking his time, moving slowly but rhythmically, and for all that Bull had imagined this, he hadn’t really been prepared.

Bull can’t stay still for long, though, and sits up all the way. Dorian pulls back, resting on his heels. He looks up and Bull, his mouth red and wet, his moustache in minor disarray. “I told you to stay put,” he pouts. Bull stares at him hungrily, and Dorian returns his gaze with a raised eyebrow.

Bull’s voice catches and he clears his throat. “Wanted to see you,” he says, because it’s true. The view is even better than he’d imagined. Dorian kneels between Bull’s knees with his head tilted back to meet Bull’s eyes. He got rid of his pants while Bull wasn’t looking, and is sitting there in just the worn grey shirt, unashamedly hard. Bull can see the outline of one of his nipple rings and the rising and falling of his chest, steady and strong. Dorian’s mouth curves into a smirk and he licks his lips. Vashedan, Bull might be falling in love with that mouth.

He reaches out to touch it, because it’s there, and runs his thumb over Dorian’s lips, fingers under his chin. Dorian takes Bull’s thumb between his teeth and keeps watching him, grey eyes barely blinking. “You’re fucking gorgeous, you know that?” Bull tells him. Dorian does know, judging by that delicate huff. “You look so good in my clothes.”

Dorian smiles around Bull’s thumb. “I did say I can make anything work.”

“I’ve thought about this,” Bull is babbling now, watching Dorian’s throat as he swallows, as Bull presses his thumb a little harder; as Dorian takes his own cock in one hand, the movement hidden under the fabric of the shirt. “I’ve seen you in the library, thought about talking to you, asking if you could use those pretty hands for something besides reaction diagrams.” 

“I do like to think so.” Dorian slides his other hand under his shirt, pulling it up just enough to tease as he runs his fingers over his own chest and hooks a painted nail in a dainty gold ring. He spreads himself out for Bull to see, chin raised and eyes hooded, lit from behind like a painting. Bull looks, barely daring to breathe. The moment seems somehow very long.

“So,” Dorian says after a few heartbeats, too long; but Bull keeps staring, “I know that I am a magnificent sight, but there are some things that I’ve thought about, too.”

He stands in a fluid motion that Bull, with his aching knees, takes a second to envy. Dorian settles himself back across Bull’s lap, but this time it’s skin against skin, and Bull sucks in a breath as Dorian rubs purposefully against his dick. The shirt has gone nowhere, and the fabric is soft against Bull’s chest as Dorian wraps his arms over Bull’s shoulders and presses a hot, wet kiss against his mouth.

“I’ve thought about your stupid clothes and how good I’d look in them,” Dorian whispers into his ear, grinding slowly against the Bull. Bull’s hands are on his ass and lower back, pressing, but not pushing. He can feel Dorian’s cock through the thin fabric, and he’ll probably never be able to wear this shirt again without getting hard. “I’ve thought about you in the library too, following you into the stacks, blowing you against the shelves, _fucking_ you against the shelves. I’ve thought about your cock, in my mouth, in _me_...” he grinds down hard and Bull groans, fingers tightening against his skin.

“I’ve wondered what you like,” Dorian is still talking, the words dripping into Bull’s brain through a spongy haze, as he moves against Dorian too, in small movements that don’t do anything to alleviate the pressure in his core. “If you like being taken care of, or if you like _taking_.” Dorian’s voice is a low purr, and he nips sharply at Bull’s ear.

The Bull’s had enough. He pulls them sideways, pinning Dorian against the bed. He leans over the Vint, breathing hard, and grabs Dorian’s dick a little roughly. Dorian gasps and his hips buck up off the bed, but he laughs and pulls Bull down for a kiss. When they break apart he whispers, “I suppose that’s one question answered,” and Bull is desperate to rob him of even that last whisper of sense and breath. 

Bull hikes the shirt up to finally get his teeth on that nipple ring, and pulls Dorian’s hands over his head, pressing them against the mattress. He grips Dorian’s hip with his other hand, and traces those pretty tattoos with his tongue while Dorian sighs and squirms underneath him in the most enchanting way. 

“Do you want to be taken, Dorian?” His voice is low and rough and Dorian shivers, nodding enthusiastically, eyes squeezed shut and breath coming in quick gasps. Bull lets go of the ring and waits until Dorian opens his eyes. “Tell me what you want.”

“Venhedis, _anything_.” Dorian whimpers. “Just _touch_ me.”

He looks down at Dorian, spread over his bed, shirt rumpled, legs stretched around Bull’s hips and cock heavy against his abdomen. His eyes are bright and a wicked grin pulls at the corners of his mouth. Bull’s never going to be able to wear that shirt again, he’s sure of it. One fantasy fulfilled, and it just generates more. Bull chuckles at himself and Dorian glares at him.

Bull takes a moment to fumble through the drawers beside his bed for the lube he keeps there, and Dorian tugs against Bull’s hold on his wrists. Bull lets go immediately. “Do you want to have your hands free?” He asks, concerned.

Dorian shrugs. “I just wanted to see what you’d do. If you were strong enough to hold me down even if I tried to get away.”

Bull sits back, taking both hands off Dorian altogether. “If you want to stop, just say the word.” He meets Dorian’s gaze earnestly. “I’m not interested in making you do anything you don’t want to.”

Dorian looks at him like he’s crazy. “If I didn’t want to be here, believe me, you’d know.” He sits up and takes Bull’s face in both his hands, “Do I need to _encourage_ you again?” He kisses Bull, slow and filthy. Bull watches him through it, resists the urge to close his eye and sink into it, keeps his hands light on Dorian’s upper back even as Dorian presses closer, body rolling against him and fingers hard against Bull’s jaw. 

“Do you want this?” Bull asks. 

Dorian may actually strain something, the way he is going with the eye rolling. Bull waits him out. “Yes, fine, I want this. It is entirely possible I only attended this terrible party because I knew you were the host. Now, given that I have consented at least three times and admitted my own terrible perversion, _might we get on with it?_ ”

Bull’s pulse jumps to a startling pace, something more than simple want curling in his chest. He really had been checking in, and had instead discovered--what? A secret crush? Some long-held private infatuation that rivaled his own? “Sure,” he says, winded. “Anything you want.” 

“I want you to hold my arms down.” 

Bull looks at Dorian, a masterpiece in grey and gold and tan. “Better idea,” he says. “Anytime you wanna stop, just say Katoh. No hard feelings. Even if you just wanna catch your breath.”

Dorian nods, repeats: “Katoh.” 

Bull yanks the shirt off of him, sliding it up and tying it snugly about Dorian’s wrists. Dorian gives the bindings an experimental tug, as Bull had guessed he might, and moans. “If I’m gonna fuck you properly,” Bull tells him, “I’m gonna need both my hands free.” 

Dorian reacts to that with a full body shudder that lifts his hips off the bed and back down and shit that’s a good view to not have any obstructions to. Bull feels a sudden urge to drink wine from the divots of Dorian’s collarbones, but since they have nothing but cheap beer, he simply worries the area with teeth and tongue until the feeling subsides. Perhaps next time (next time?) he will be more prepared. 

Bull peppers kisses down Dorian’s abdomen, opening the lube and warming a bit of it in his left hand. Bull’s right hand strokes up Dorian’s thighs, coaxing his legs apart. Dorian whimpers and lets them fall to the sides, leaving him bare and open. Bull brings a slick finger to Dorian’s ass, stroking along the crease but not entering quite yet. “Good?” He asks.

Dorian seems to have gone largely nonverbal but he lets out a long moan and nods enthusiastically. Bull likes that. 

The look Dorian gives him when he finally gets a finger inside--just for a moment, Bull thinks his heart might actually stop. When the beating returns it is like a roaring in his ears, and he hasn’t even fucked the guy yet. 

Dorian strains against the bonds while Bull fingers him open, so Bull presses his free hand against Dorian’s bound wrists. Some parts of sex are made easier by having a size difference, and Bull has never been ashamed of using that to his full advantage. It also puts him at the perfect height to kiss Dorian, swallowing the sweet little noise he makes when Bull slides a second finger in. 

When Dorian is sufficiently prepared, Bull pulls off of him. Dorian immediately begins thrashing and squirming, and Bull has to pause to soothe him. “I’m not leaving, sweetheart. Just gotta get a condom.” Dorian nods, but still surges up after him when he goes. Bull can’t remember the last time he called anyone “sweetheart,” but it feels natural on his tongue. He leaves Dorian just long enough to begin the slightly inelegant process of putting a condom on. 

“Do you need another hour to primp or is this torment sufficient?” Dorian asks when Bull settles himself back on the bed. The jibe is somewhat ruined by Dorian’s rasping pant, as well as the fact that they are both hard and leaking and Bull was gone less than fifteen seconds. Bull doesn’t tease, though; Dorian’s not the only one who’s gotten desperate. 

“Gonna fuck you now,” he murmurs instead, and finds that his own voice is half-gone. “Gonna make you feel so good with me inside you.” 

“Please,” is Dorian’s only response, and oh, how Bull wants to ruin him for other men. 

He enters Dorian, and while he expects it to be good, he doesn’t expect it to feel perfect. He doesn’t expect wrapping an arm around Dorian’s chest and slowly pressing in to feel like coming home after a long day. 

It is possible that Dorian has already ruined him.

Dorian is quieter than Bull expected. Oh, he has a lot to say, but it’s all whispers between gasping breaths and low, wordless noises that he smothers against Bull’s neck and mouth. “Please,” he says, over and over. “Please, _please_ ,” like Bull isn’t already willing to give him everything.

Bull moves slowly, pressing a kiss onto Dorian’s open mouth with every breath. Dorian arches up against him, skin hot and sweaty, breath harsh. He’s beautiful, Bull thinks, but he knew that already. He didn’t know that Dorian smells like sandalwood and citron; he didn’t know that Tevene was his favorite language until Dorian starts gasping it into his ear.

Bull slides a hand up Dorian’s arm to press on his wrists again, pinning him while they ease just a bit closer together. The pressure sends a deep shiver down the length of Dorian’s body, and Bull presses harder on his hands, feeling Dorian’s fingers grasping at his through the tangled fabric of the shirt. Dorian moans louder, and Bull thrusts sharply against him, just once. He wants that sound again. 

Bull’s stretched out over Dorian, and he’d been desperate before but now he can barely breathe. His heartbeat is rushing in his ears and he bends down with a groan. “Would you fucking _move_.” Dorian gasps, so Bull does.

Dorian wraps his legs around Bull’s hips and sucks on Bull’s neck. It stings and it’ll probably bruise, and Bull likes that idea. He fucks Dorian until they’re both gasping, until the only sound Dorian can make is Bull’s name, and Bull swallows that in a desperate kiss.

Bull holds Dorian’s wrists in one hand and his dick in the other, tries to stroke him in time with his own thrusting, but it’s harder than it seems. He keeps forgetting to move his hand until Dorian wriggles and curses at him. After the second time, he might do it just to watch the way that Dorian’s eyes snap open and stare up at him with oddly sexy exasperation. 

Dorian moves against Bull with every thrust, legs wrapped around Bull’s back, muscles tensing around and under Bull until it seems like Dorian must be the entire world. The moment Bull lets go of Dorian’s hands to gain better purchase on the bedsheets, Dorian throws his bound arms around Bull’s neck, and Bull can feel from how his head is jerked to the side that Dorian will have a long red furrow in one of his arms thanks to the Bull’s horns. But Bull doesn’t feel blood where the arm settles around his neck, and he certainly doesn’t hear Katoh. 

Instead, Dorian lets out an ecstatic moan and pulls Bull close enough to kiss his mouth. Bull is certain he would allow himself to be led much worse places for a sound like that. 

They kiss and their motions grow frantic and faster and Bull thinks his dick might be on fire. Dorian is so hot under him it feels like a brand. Strangely, the thought does not make Bull uncomfortable at all. In fact--

“Are you gonna come for me, Dorian?” Bull receives a panting breath and a groan in reply. “Come on, if you wanna do it with me inside of you it’ll have to be soon.”

Dorian is the type of art that museums don’t approve of, all smeared eyeliner and sweat and jewelery. “Please,” he says again, and this time it’s an answer and not a request. Bull grips his cock and pounds into him, and that’s an answer of its own sort.

“You’re so good, Dorian, so beautiful under me.” The t-shirt, not exactly made to be bondage gear, slips out of its knot and Dorian uses his newfound freedom to rake his fingers down Bull’s back. Bull loses all sense of his words after that, but he has a feeling they might have been Dorian’s name, over and over again. _Dorian, Dorian, Dorian. So beautiful, Dorian._

Bull comes with a strangled yell and Dorian follows, voice silent but for an open mouthed breath not long after. They lie there, still joined and panting, for interminable heartbeats after.

When the mess between them changes from sexy-sticky to plain sticky-sticky, Bull gently disentangles himself enough to throw the condom in the trash and clean up the two of them with his (still awesome, thank you very much) pink cat T-shirt. Then he returns to the bed, intent on rubbing a hand up and down Dorian’s naked sides until they both fall asleep. 

Downstairs, the party is still going on. Bull can hear the music through the floor. He doesn’t regret abandoning it a single iota. Dorian slips off his bed, though, and _that_ is a problem.

“Well, this has been a lovely evening, but I suppose it is time for me to go now.” Dorian hurriedly pulls on the first clothes he grabs. The grey shirt, now stretched beyond all reasonable usefulness, the sweatpants Bull offered him earlier, draw string pulled tight. They are a little roomy on Bull. On Dorian, he can really see why Krem always calls them a circus tent.

“What?” Bull blinks at him, still sex-stupid and hazy. 

“It’s generally customary for me to do you the kindness of vacating your sleeping area now, before I put you in the awkward position of having to kick me out.” Dorian explains it like Bull is the one being a moron.

“I don’t want you to leave,” is the only true thing Bull can think to say.

Dorian stares at him like he’s never heard that particular combination of words before.

“Please,” Bull adds. He won’t stop Dorian if he wants to go, of course, but if Dorian _wanted_ to stay... If the walk back across campus were cold and lonely and Bull were here and warm and wanted to hold Dorian right now... Well, surely it would be only practical. Surely tomorrow Bull could walk Dorian home after breakfast, maybe kiss him again, maybe ask him to dinner that night and try wooing him in the proper order this time. It was only reasonable to think so. 

Dorian hesitates at the door.

“Please stay.” Bull says. Dorian turns around and Bull might not breathe until takes a slow step towards him. Bull folds the covers back and knows he’s smiling too much but he can’t help it. Dorian slips the sweatpants off-- or maybe they slip off on their own. “Leave the shirt on.” Bull says, and there’s that smirk again, or one a lot like it. Dorian kisses him once as he slides under the blankets and into Bull’s arms.

**Author's Note:**

> Team AU strikes again!
> 
> If you're interested, A is trying to keep up a writing practice and I have [ a tumblr ](http://acheesecakewrites.tumblr.com/) for it now! Come chat/prompt/yell at me to write! :D  
> Say hi to U at [Eugenideswalksintoabar](http://eugenideswalksintoabar.tumblr.com) and A at [Acheesecakewrites](http://acheesecakewrites.tumblr.com)\-- Thanks for reading and much love from team AU


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